Selected quad for the lemma: spirit_n
Text snippets containing the quad
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A07427
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A godlie dreame compiled by Elizabeth Melvill, Ladie Culros younger, at the request of a friend.
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Colville, Elizabeth Melvill, Lady Colville of Culros, fl. 1603.
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1620
(1620)
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STC 17814; ESTC S1302
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8,897
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23
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A GODLIE DREAME Compiled by Elizabeth Melvill Ladie Culros younger at the request of a Friend Introite per angustam portam nam lata est via quae ducit ad interitum AH EDINBVRGH Imprinted by Andro Hart ANNO DOM 1620. A GODLY DREAME VPon a day as I did mourne full sore For sundry things wherwith my soule was grieued My griefe increased and grewe more and more I comfort fled could not be relieued With heauinesse my heart was so mischieued I loath'd my life I could not eate nor drinke I might not speake nor looke to none that liued But mus'd alone and diuers things did thinke This wretched world did so molest my minde I thought vpon this false and Yron age And how our heartes were so to vice inclinde That Sathan séemde most fearfullie to rage Nothing on earth my sorrow could asswadge I felt my sinne most stronglie to increase I grieued the Spirit that wont to be my pledge My soule was plung'd into most déepe distresse All merrinesse did aggrauate my paine And earthly ioyes did still increase my woe In companie I could no wise remaine But fled resort and so alone did goe My sillie soule was tossed to and fro With sundrie thoughts which troubled me full sorè I preas'd to pray but sighes our set me so I could doe nought but groane and say no more The trickling teares aboundantlie ran downe Mine heart was eas'd when I had mourn'd my fill Then I beganne my Lamentation And said O Lord how long is it thy will That thy poore Sainctes shall be afflicted still Alas How long shall subtile Sathan rage Make haste O Lord thy promise to fulfill Make hast to ende our painfull Pilgrimage Thy sillie Sainctes are tossed to and fro Awake O Lord why sléepest thou so long We haue no strength against our cruell fo In sighes and sobbes now changed is our song The World preuailes our enemies are strong The Wicked rage but we are poore and weake O! shewe thy selfe with spéed reuenge our wrong Make short these daies euen for thy Chosens sake Lord Iesus come and saue thine owne Elect For Sathan séekes our simple soules to stay The wicked World doth stronglie vs infect Most monstrous sinnes increase doe day by day Our loues growes cold our zeale is worne away Our faith is faild and wée are like to fall The Lyon roares to catch vs as a prey Make hast O Lord before we perish all These are the daies which thou so long foretold Should come before this wretched world should end Now Uice aboundes and Charitie growes cold And euen thine owne most stronglie do offend The Deuill preuailes his forces he doth bend If it could be to wrack thy Children deare But we are thine therefore some succour send Receiue our soules we wearie wandring héere What can we do we clogged are with sinne In filthie vice our senselesse soules are drownde Though we resolue we neuer can beginne T' amend our liues but sinne doth still abound UUhē wilt thou come whē shal thy trumpet sound UUhen shall we sée that great and glorious Day O saue vs Lord out of that pit profound And reaue vs from that loathsome lump of clay Thou knowst our harts thou seest our whole desire Our secret thoughtes they are not hid from thée Though we offend thou knowst we strangely tire To beare this weight our spirit would faine be frée Alas O Lord what pleasure can it bée To liue in sinne that sore doth presse vs downe Oh! giue vs winges that we aloft may flie And ende the sight that we may weare the crowne Before the Lord when I had thus complainde My minde grew calme mine heart was then at rest Though I was faint from foode yet I refrainde And went to Bede because I thought it best With heauinesse my spirit was sore opprest I fell on sléepe And so againe me thought I made my moane and so my griefe increast And from the Lord with teares I succour sought Lord Iesus come saide I and ende our griefe My spirit is vext the captiue would be frée All vice aboundes now send vs some reliefe I loath to liue I wish dissolu'd to bee My spirit doeth long and thirsteth after thée As thirstie ground requires a showre of raine Mine heart is drie as fruitlesse barren frée I féele my selfe How can I héere remaine With sighes and sobbes as I did solament Into my dreame I thoght there did appeare A sight most swéete which did mée well content An Angel bright with visage shining cleare With louing lookes and with a smiling cheare He asked me Why art thou thus so sad Why groan'st thou so what dost thou dwining here With carefull cries in this thy bailfull Bed I heare thy sighes I sée thy trickling teares Thou séemst to be in some perplexitie What mean thy mones what is y t thing thou fears Whom would thou haue in what place would y u be Faint not so fast in thine aduersitie Mourne not so sore sith mourning may not mend Lift vp thine heart declare thy griefe to me Perchance thy paine bringes pleasure in the end I sigh'd againe and said Alas for wo My griefe is great I can it not declare Into this earth I wander to and fro A Pilgrime poore consum'd with sighing sore My sinnes alas increase doe more and more I loath my life I wearie wandring here I long for Heauen mine Heritage is there I long to liue with my Redéemer deare Is this the cause said he rise vp anone And follow me and I shall be thy guide And from thy sighes leaue off thine heauie mone Refraine from teares and cast thy care aside Trust in my Strength and in my Word confide And thou shalt haue thine heauie heartes desire Rise vp with spéede I may not long abide Great diligence this matter doeth require My soule rejoc'd to heare his sword so swéete I looked vp and saw his Face most fayre His countenate reuiu'd my wearie spirite Incontinent I cast aside my care With humble heart I prayd him to declare What was his Name He answered me againe I am thy God for whome thou sigh'st so sore I now am come thy teares are not in vaine I am the Way I am the Trueth and Life I am thy spouse that bringes thée store of grace I am thy Lord that soone would end thy strife I am thy Loue whome thou wouldst faine imbrace I am thy joye I am thy rest and peace Rise vp anone and follow after mée I shall thée lead into thy dwelling place The Land of rest thou long'st so sore to sée With joyfull heart I thanked him againe Readie am I said I and well content To follow thée for héere I liue in paine A wretch vnworth my daies are vainelie spent Not one is just but all are fiercelie bent To runne to vice I haue no force to stand My sinnes increase which makes mée sore lament Make hast O Lord I long to sée that Land Thine haste